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A^'7 



LYRICS 

OF 

THE HILLS. 




By Edward B. Kenna, 







Press of 

The Acme Publishing Company, 

Morgantown, W. Va. 

xQoa. 



'OS 



This^to my Mother, 

From whose worth I have learned to love the things worth loving; and 
to that other one from whose woman's heart has come the best of my 
inspiration. 



TABLE OF CONTEWXS. 

rage. 

Inspiration 9 

A Song 10 

Class Poem 12 

My Knowledge 23 

A Birthday Song 26 

My Valentine 29 

Ballad of the Maine 30 

Father Tabb 36 

Fall Time in the Country 37 

Keats S9 

A Spring Song 40 

The Viol and Bow 42 

Trailing Arbutus 47 

The Valley of Slumberland , 48 

Dolce Far Niente ^ 51 

Hunting Song 52 

Two Songs 55 

Ivullaby 56 

The Judgment 57 

The AmabamaChoon 60 

Longing 62 

The Sestina of Thoughtful Bill 64 

EgoTe Amo 67 

Association 69 

Josh Opines 71 

A Memory 73 

A Mother's Kiss 75 

The Stream 76 

The Thrush's Song 77 

A Song 78 

Night 79 

Wanderers 80 

A Winter Song 82 

The Flight 84 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

Page 

A Villanelleof Joy 86 

When de Fish am Bitin' Free 88 

Summer Song 90 

Arcady 93 

Christmas Songs 94 

To the South Wind 96 

A Song of Protest 100 

A Song of You 106 

How Can I, Lord? 108 

A Twilight Song 110 

Neva 112 

The Song of the Calling Heart 117 

To A Butterfly 122 

Thus Saith The Forest to Man 123 

Coon Song 125 

A Valentine Verse 127 

A Memory 129 

The Real Raggedy Man 131 

An Autumn Song 134 

To A Dandelion 137 

A July Rain 138 

Via Crucis '. 140 

Awakened 141 

A Song of the Open Air 142 

To the Southland 145 

Star Dust .....148 

My All 149 

Soul Union 150 



Lyrics of the Hills. 



INSPIRATION. 



A thought from God's great heart of love 

Fell to this world of wrong; 
A poet made this thought his own, 

And breathed it forth in song. 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 



A SONG. 



I come into the room to-night 

Where ruddy fire-logs glow, 
And hear a viol crooning soft 

A melody sweet and low, 
A melody that sings to me 

A secret lovers know* 
And you are holding the bow, sweetheart, 

'Tis for you the music rings, 
As rippling low the clear notes flow 

In the song the viol sings. 

The airs Isaye plays, sweetheart, 

The songs that Calve sings. 
Are not so clear as this sweet song 

With which your viol rings. 
Tis sweet as the horn of the herald morn 

Or the rush of angel wings; 
'Tis pure, 'tis far too pure for earth, 

10 



J 



LYRIC IS OF THE HILLS. 

The love it tells, too true, 
When the viol sings through its vibrant strings 
Its melody for you. 

My heart is like the viol, dear; 

My heart for you will be 
A vibrant harp of wondrous tone, 

Afire with melody, 
To sing a silent song of love 

For all eternity — 
A song of love as pure and true 

As the breath of the spring-time sod, 
Where worshipping flowers in odorous bowers 

Waft incense up to God. 



11 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

WE, ABOUT TO DEPART, SALUTE THEE. 

(Class Poem.) 

It scarcely seems 
The consummation of our college dreams 

Can be so near. 
Yet now the day is here 
And we, at last, are free to go 
To test the worth of all the joy and woe 
That go to make the world. 

The path ahead seems smooth, well-trod and clear: 

And yet a fear 
Is in my heart, that when 
We tread this path of life abreast with men 
Who thirst for joy in fame or gold, 
Who trample, in their greed, the weak and old, 

We shall not find 
The world is, by its very nature, kind. 

There is a fruit that grows in Palestine 
As luscious looking as the muscadine, 

12 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

But when we break the skin 
To seek the pulp within 

We find its beauty all is on its face 

And in its heart but worthless dust has place. 

The world is like this fruit. In our young dreams 
It glistens fair, and seems 
All fairy gold and no alloy, 
A thing of beauty and eternal joy, 

But we shall never find it so. 

Its seeming fairness we too soon shall know 
A polished face to hide the dross below. 
We picture days in shady bowers 

Where love-lit hours — 
Joy waves on the sea of life — 
Shall ripple by with peaceful beauty rife. 

But v/e shall find, 

Intertwined 

With the flowers 

Scattered there 

Sweet and fair, 
Many a thorn to which the petals made us blind. 

13 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

In happy dreams 
We oft have drifted down calm, peaceful streams 

Where breezes sang 
A whispered song, and sweet chimes rang 
A lullaby that floated through the listening air 

And told of joys as pure as prayer. 

We oft have vo3^aged far across a dreamland sea 

Upon a cloud-craft builded of our dreams 

To find a land where joy fiom care would e'er be free 

And strife and wrath and sorrow would not be. 

We have beheld, all radiant in the gleams 
Of crimson light 

That kiss the earth just ere the sun has set, 

The airy summit of a minaret 

That graced the land we longed to own. 

But waking came and then we knew 
A fact, forever true, 

A fact I feel we should have known — 

There is no perfect happiness within the girth 

Of this small sphere we call the earth. 

14 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

Hast ever seen 
The dust dance in the chapel, where a shaft of Hght 
Full often throws a halo bright 

Upon the celebrant ? 
Hast ever seen the incense rise 
In graceful clouds that charm thine eyes 

And heard the chant 
That sings God's praise, and thought that here 
Within the bounds of this poor sphere 

True happiness could be ? 

The earth is small, 

But happiness is all — 
I lay upon the hills at night 
And saw the wondrous constellations whirl 
Like fretful midges in a sea of light; 
I saw ten thousand suns impearl 
The darkness of illimitable space; 
I saw the farthest, faintly glimmering star 
And knew that, howsoever far 
I saw, still further yet immensities of distance are. 

15 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

I scarce could dare 

Then to compare 
The earth with all the greatness there 

It is so small compared with all 
The majesty of heaven, its wonders pall 
And seem the simplest commonplace. 

The world in space 
Is like the microscopic bubble from the mouth 
Of some pink-coral-building insect of the south 

Upon the sea. 
A mote that one can scarcely see 
Amid such vast immensity. 

The world is small and yet God's hand is here, 
Its impress unmistakable and cle^r. 

The fragrant rose, 
The bird whose song delights the hearts of men; 

The brook that flows 
In babbling melody adown the glen 

Singing a strain 

Whose sweet refrain 

16 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

Is clearer than the pipes of Pan 
Soft blown by lips ^Eolian; 

Proclaim 

His loving name 
In simple sweetness to the minds of men. 

The thunderous shock 
Of seas that beat the battlemented shore 

And crush the rock 
And grind to sand the continents; the roar 
Of storms, that hurl the ships of /Eolus adown the sky 

Proclaim 

His av/ful name 
In terror-breathing accents to the hearts of men; 
Upon the cloud-wove banner of the storm that flaunts 

on high; 
Upon the petals of the rose where dainty dew drops lie, 
Is traced the mystic beauty of His name. 
The fragance of the falling dew, 
The glor}^ of the sunset's hue, 
The rosebud with bright dew drops clinging 

17 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

In crystal beauty to its leaves, 
The simple songs the birds are singing 

Beneath the shade of the sheltering eaves, 
The poem with true feeling ringing 

Straight from the heart that joys or grieves, 
Love them all — parts of God's plan 
They are whispers of love from God to man. 
To love them is to worship Him 
Whose simple word 
Sufficed to bring from out primordial nothingness 
Potential forms; to body forth the beauty of his mind; 
To dress 
To His own plan 
In regal garb of verdant loveliness 
This earthly home He made for man. 
This earth is not the final home, this life is not the 

final end of man. 
This life is but a tear of sorrow for the angel's sin, 
A way to fill the place where they had been. 
Each tear has, hidden in its limpid breast, 
The beauty of the wondrous bow 

18 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS, 

That arches o'er the earth when rain is done. 
But all the beauty of all tears that flow 
In sorrow from a heart distresse d, 
And all the beauty of the Iris bow 
That, halo-like, bedecks the distant mountain s 
crest, 
Is but the borrowed glory of the sun. 
So all the beauty of this lowly life. 
Its dreams of perfect love, the glory of its strife, 
In each delight from starry vault to grassy sod 
Is but a faint reflection of the beauty of its God. 

This life is but the grub-state of that butterfly, 

The human soul; 
This body is the rough cocoon wherein the soul must lie 

Until the goal 
Is reached, then, freed from all the trammels of the 
earth, 

The heritage of human birth, 
The soul may soar to flowery realms above 
And sip the honeyed blossoms of eternal love. 

19 



LYBICS OF 'iHE BILLS. 

The day is here 
And we, at last, are free to go 
To test the worth of all the joy and woe 

That go to make the world. 
A poet one-time sang, that all which he held dear 
Had fled with the snows of the vanished year. 
Time will come, when we are dead 
And lost like the snows of years gone by; 
Yet when all the time of life has fled 
The deeds of true men shall not die. 

Deep in the depths of the violet's heart 

Glistens a drop of dew. 
Yonder where daylight and darkness part 

Are clouds of wondrous hue. 
There where those swift-winged swallows dart 

Nestles a lake of blue. 
Things of beauty and joy are here 
All one with the snows of yesteryear, 

20 



LYEICS OF THE MILLS. 

Men of the past, themselves are dead, 

But out of their graves have sprung 
The noblest deeds of the souls that are sped, 

For worth is ever young. 
These deeds are as one with the lives that have fled, 

Whose praise has not been sung, 
As the sparkling waters of meadow and mere 
Are one with the snows of yester-year. 

Comrades, let us go 
And aid the joy and fight the woe 

That go to make the world. 
Let us go and make the world the better for our lives, 
This, we can if we but do our best; 
The spindrift on the breaker's crest, 
The mist that Midas-like transforms the west 

To God's own plan 

Bring joy to man. 

This each of us can do, for he who strives 
Can lift the load from many fellow men^ 

21 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

And when he dies his memory will not die 
But in the hearts of men will live 
And know the honor that the world can give 

To him it loves, 
And more than honor that this life can know, 
For in his joy will be no taint of woe 
For him who loves and aids his fellow men, 

Him God will love. 



22 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 



MY KNOWLEDGE. 



I know those fleecy clouds, that lie 

Athwart the sky, 
Afire with opalescent hue, 

Have sailed o'er you, 
And seen the wondrous glory of your eyes, 
And now are sighing to the wondering skies 

Their glad surprise, 

I know that breeze that whispers there 

Caressed your hair; 
For now it fills the love-bright hours 

With breath of flowers, 
And hints, and breaths, of perfume, mystic, rare, 
Of kisses, sweet and pure as mountain air, 

My lips pressed there. 

Where high the loftiest leaflet swings 
The mock-bird sings: 

23 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

I know the bird has heard you play 

That old sweet lay; 
I know the mock-bird knows my heart's keen pain, 
For hark ! I hear the heart-song once again, 

Your viol's strain. 

I know in all of earth or air 

I find you there. 
The mock-bird's song, the cloud's bright hue, 

Tell me of you. 
I know that when my hopes of fame uprise, 
When I have striven hard, I seek the prize 

In your deep eyes. 

God grant me this: — when life has flown 

And I, alone. 
Face Him upon the Throne of White, 

I may be right; 
And that among the angel hosts that grace 
The corridors of that celestial place, 

I see your face. 

24 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS: 

And, seeing, love you as I do ' 

And be so true 
Through aeons of eternity 

That you must see, 
What time's brief span could never fitly show. 
Without your love, heaven's bliss is taint v/ith woe, 

I love vou so! 



26 



LYBIGS OF IBE HILLS, 



A BIRTHDAY SONG. 

Like a breath of perfume roaming 
From a rose's fragrant breast; 
Like a love song in the gloaming 
When the moon is in the west; 
Like a ray of sunlight gleaming 
Upon a storm swept sea; 
Like a thought too pure for dreaming 
To a soul in misery, 
There came a God-sent joy to cheer this earth, 
That happy, love-fraught day that knew your birth. 



20 



LYBICS OF 2 HE HILLS. 

A PRAYER. 

/ 

I would not make thy life one whit less glad 
By sighing of what might have been, 

Nor of the wild despair that makes mine sad 
And hurries me to paths of sin. 

But all the great round world is word of thee; 

The pale moon brings me memories 
That sting and torture, for they are to me 

Wild mockers of the agonies 

That come to fill the place where hope once dwelt- 
Fair hope that ever knew thee, dear! 

I weep not, for despair so deep ne'er felt 
The sweetened solace of a tear. 

O winds that wail through all the dreary night! 

O stars, that mock my helpless pain! 
O God! bring joy to her and deep delight; 

Let not m}^ suffering be in vain! 

27 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS, 

Bring Thou to her the happiness of love! 

Make Thou her Hfe a paradise ! 
Hear Thou and grant, O Lord, great God above! 

And I! The memory of her eyes! 



28 



LYEIGS OF THE HILLS. 
MY VALENTINE. 

A valentine came from my love to me, 

(Sing hey for the good Saint Valentine), 
It was not a card with a posey writ 
In the heart of a picture drawn on it; 
It was not a lock of raven hair, 
Nor a shimmering curl of tresses fair; 
Nor was it a bow of azure hue, 
With its unwritten message. '1 love you," 
And yet a message of love was mine, 
So here's to good Saint Valentine. 

The message that came from my love to me, 

(Sing hey for the good Saint Valentine), 
Was merely a glance, yet a tale it told 
That is always new, yet ever old. 
'Twas fairer than posey, or bow of blue, 
And it told me truer, **I love you," 
For a loving glance from her lovelit eye 
Is surel}^ too perfect to deign to lie; 
A perfect message of love was mine, 
So here's to good Saint Valentine. 

k.9 



LI BIGS OF THE HILLS. 
BALLAD OF THE MAINE. 

It was the Maine — our battleship — in Havana harbor 

lay 
But now above her sunken guns the finny fishes play, 
And o'er the bones of her brave boys the slimy sea- 
weeds sway. 

Lulled by the sailor's lullaby, the murmur of 

of the deep. 
On board the Maine our Yankee tars had sunk 

in trust to sleep: 
But now for these, our murdered braves, our 
maids and matrons weep. 
But men weep not! 'Tis not their part to moan and 

weep the slain — 
They must remember every wrong, and mete out 

pain for pain. 
Up, men! our honor is at stake; strike home! revenge 
the Maine! 

Hear the trumpets in the glen 
Call the fighting mountain men: 

30 



LYRICS OF THE BILLS. 

*'By the memory of the Maine, 
Come! Avenge your murdered slain!" 
Hear the summons of the drum: 

"Come, you Yankee fighters! Come 
From mountain, plain, and hollow!" 
And we'll follow, follow, follow 
To the rumble, roll and rattle 

Of our drum; 
To the wild charge of the battle, 
Till our foemen flee like cattle 
As we come. 

Jehovah! God of Holiness! display Thy awful might. 
Give peace unto those sailor boys who perished in 

the night. 
Give vengeance swift and sure as death! Do Thou 
uphold the right! 

Revenge is mine, and mine alone, the Lord, 

our God has said; 
But hear the sailor's mother weep and wail 
her murdered dead. 

31 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

Does not the very sun sink down behind a 
cloud of red? 
Up, men! you men of Gettysburg, have you forgot 

the wa}^ 
You met the charging legions there, your bretheren 

in the gray? 
You know their worth, and they know yours, join 
ranks and fight today! 

Hear the trumpets in the glen 
Call the fighting mountain men: 
''By the memory of the Maine, 
Come! Avenge your murdered slain!" 
Hear the summons of the drum: 

"Come! you Yankee fighters! Come 
From mountain, plain, and hollow!" 
And we'll follow, follow, follow 
To the rumble, roll and rattle 

Of our drum; 
To the wild charge of the battle, 
Till our foemen flee like cattle 
As we come. 

32 



LYBIGS OF THE HILLS. 



HUNTIN' TIME IS COMIM'. 



Huntin' time is comin' 
For the pheasants are a drummin' 
And the ches'nut burrs are turnin' on the south side 
of the tree; 
And the ''zvhicker, ivhicker, whicker,'' 
Of the raspin', sceamin' flicker 
Comes a driftin' from the mountain top across the 
crick to me. 

The bobwhites are a whistlin' 
And circHn' hawks are listenin' 
Where they slowly sail a watchin' all the country 
underneath; 
The hazehiuts are turnin', 
And my very heart is yearnin' 
For the whirr of birds, the bark of guns and the 
broomsage -covered heath. 

Why, it was this very mornin' 
That I had a sign, a warnin', 

33 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

That the squirrels are here a cuttin' wherever mast 
is found; 
For I found, when I warn't trying 
A hickorynut shell lyin' 
Fresh cut an' eaten hollow right in the foot-trod 
ground. 

Lord! I'm glad this time is comin*, 
For there's lots fun in bummin' 
Through the autnmn woods a dreamin' and a huntin' 
all the day, 
When a feller's kind o' lazy, 
And the golden days are hazy, 
And the whisperin' breeze has conjured all his troubles 
far away. 

Yes, the huntin' time's a comin' 
For the pheasants are a drummin*, 
And the ches'nut burrs are turnin' on the south side 
of the tree; 

34 



LYBIGS OF THE HILLS. 



To the woods my thoughts are turnin' 
And my hungry heart is yearnin* 
For the woods where man is master and his every 
thought is free. 



35 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 



FATHER TABB. 



A dewdrop holding in its breast 
The brightness of the sun, 

The essence of the muse's best; 
A thousand thoughts in one. 



36 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 
FALT. TIME IjSr THE COUNTRY. 

Fall time in the country. Ain't you feelin' fine? 
Pawpaws on the bushes, fox grapes on the vine, 
Gorgeous leaves a fallin', partridge whistles clear, 
Hints o' fun a huntin', in the lazy atmosphere, 
Why life is worth the livin', an' a feller knows he's free, 
Fall time in the country, the best o' times to me. 

Fall time in the country, ain't you feelin' good, 
When 3^ou hear the chestnuts fallin' in the stillness 

of the wood, 
When the drummin' of the pheasants, boomin' up 

the wooded hill, 
Sets the very heart of nature aquiver and athrill 
With the vigor and the spirit of the good old uster be ? 
Fall time in the country is might}^ dear to me. 

Fall time in the country, when the sunlight filters down 
The tangled maze of cloudland and through the 
beeches brown 

37 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

In the golden rays it scatters on the dear old dirty sod 
I can trace in wondrous letters the mystic word of God 
And the goodness of the Master, who willed that it 

should be, 
Oh the olden, golden autumn is the best o' times to me. 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

KEATS. 

At Adonais' birth 

The nightingale burst forth in floods of 
song, 
That from the lowly earth 

Soared high, and jubilantly bore along 
Adown the golden splendor of the morn 
The news that he was born. 

At Adonais' death 

The muse donned robes of sober ame- 
thyst. 
At his last labored breath 

Chaste Dian left her starry heights and 
kissed 
His marble brow. The moon grew dark 

and fled 
To hear that he was dead. 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 



A SPRING SONG. 



Heigho! the swallows are coming, 

And soon they'll be skimming o'er meadows and 
mere ! 
Heigho! the bees will be humming, 

The bluebird is nesting — the song birds are here I 
The harbinger bluebird has brought us sweet tiding 

Of breezes, and sunshine, and flowers, and spring; 
And there in the cedars the redbird is hiding — 

Hark! hear the melody — list to him sing! 
Hear the blithe gallant's gay musical wooing ! — 

Who would not wish him success in his love ? — 
And there in the meadow I hear a sweet cooing 

That tells me Dan Cupid has not spared the dove. 
Everywhere ! Any time ! Morning to gloaming, 

I hear the sweet song-birds just home from their 
roaming. 

Heigho ! the roses are bursting 

The bonds that have held them the whole winter 
long; 

40 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

Heigho ! all nature is thirsting 

For showers, and breezes, and perfume, and song 
The herald arbutus announces that flowers 

Will romp over forest, and meadow, and glade; 
The violet whispers of long summer hours, 

And bowers of sweetness, and perfume, and shade; 
The buttercup sings of vast riches of pleasure 

That wait us in shadowy walks of the wood ; 
Forget-me-nots murmur their mild moving measure, 

And coyly keep secrets they'd tell if they could. 
Everywhere ! any time, morning to morning, 

I hear the sweet flowers all dreariness scorning. 



41 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS, 

THE VIOL AND BOW. 

There is a fiddle, I call mine, made of most ancient wood ; 
That in the babyhood of time in primal forest stood." 

Sam WAI.TER Foss. 

This is the song the viol and bow 
Sang to the player that, night 
The player old, with the snowy hair, 
As he sat in the balmy June night air, 
When the moon was shining bright. 

They both cried "Oh!" 
To both viol and bow, 
' 'What a pleasure it is to tell all we know 
Of the days when we lived in heart of the 

trees, 
When we rocked in the tempest and stirred 
in the breeze, 
When we heard the wild music the forest harp 
sings, 

When over its strings 
The wild wind swings 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

And forth through the silence a harmony 
flings. 

"We learned every note 
Of that anthem by rote. 
*Twas sweeter than music that Mozart e er 
wrote. 
The soft summer breeze sang another sweet 

song 
That lisped as it lilted its murmur along, 
A melody sweet as the song of the bird, 
Whose singing it heard, 
When it softly had stirred 
The tree whose broad branches had sheltered 
the bird. 

*lt sang them of showers, 
And sweet blowing flowers 
That perfumed the air through the long sum- 
mer hours, 
And it sang of green mosses in violet dells, 

43 



LIBIGS OF THE HILLS. 

Where deep in the blossoms a fairy maid 
dwells, 
Who sings with delight, through the long sum- 
mer days, 

The mystical lays, 
She sweetly plays, 
On the cobweb strung harp of the musical fays. 

'In our hearts are deep burned 
The songs we have learned, 
And safe in our bosom we hold them inurned; 
The song of the forest, the breeze or the bird, 
These wonderful memories of music we heard, 
Will spring forth full blooded, if you can but 
know, 

The rhythm and flow. 
The weal and the woe, 
That throb in the hearts of us, viol and bow. 

' 'When the first light impearled 
The wondering world, 

44 



When the night's starry banner the first time 
unfurled, 
When the garden of earth was not withered 

by sin, 
The music of nature for ages had been, 
And music still lives, as sweet as 'twas then, 
And listening men 
Can all hear it when 
They listen with ears that are childlike again. 

' 'For there is no dearth 
Of music on earth 
That waits but the summons to call it to birth, 
You can ensnare these song birds of thought, 
In the chords of your heart, and having them 
caught. 
Can bid them sing anthems to ring forth along 
The ages, in song, 
As pure and strong 
As harmonies sung by the angelic throng." 

45 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS, 

Thus sang the viol and bow 

To the weary player that night; 
The player old, with the snowy hair, 
As he sat in the balmy June night air, 
When the moon was shining bright. 

And the player heard their song. 

For his heart was childlike then, 
And he sang a song that made his name 
A watchword on the path to fame, 
And gave him the love of men. 



46 



LYEICS OF lEE HILLS. 



TRAILING ARBUTUS. 

Oh, modest flower, 'tis thine to bring 
The herald perfume of the spring; 
So silent death 'tis thine to be 
The herald of Eternity. 



47 



LTBICS OF THE HILLS. 
THE VALLEY OF SLUMBERLAND. 

A LUIiLABT. 

Into the valley of Slumberland 

Mama and baby go; 
Softly and sweetly the breezes blow, 
Sweetly and softly the brooklets flow, 

And goblins and fays 

Run hither and there, 

And weave moonrays 

Into garments rare 
For the king and the queen of this grand old 

land — 
The mystical kingdom of Slumberland. 

Chorus. 
Heigho! By oh! 

Into the valley of Slumberland, 
Where dreams are the gleams 

Of the Slumbermoon; 
Where the sun's first ray. 

And the break of day 

48 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS, 

Come all too soon. 

Heigho! sing low! 
Of the joys of the kingdom of Slumberland. 

Over the hills at the close of the day, 

Singing a lullaby low; 
Hearing the fairy songs as we go, 
Seeing the fairy lights gleam and glow, 

As the fairies dance 

On violets sweet 

That seem to entrance 

Their twinkling feet 
As they whirl and twirl while the crickets play, 
Over the hills at the close of the day. 

In this fair kingdom of Slumberland 

Roses and jasmines blow. 
Sweeter than blossoms our meadows know, 
Fairer than flowers our gardens grow; 

So, baby, let's go 

To this valley fair 

49 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

Where never a woe 

Nor ever a care 
Can come to kill joy, in this wonderful land- 
The mystical kingdom of Slumberland. 



50 



LYJRICS OF THE HILLS. 



DOLCE FAR NIENTE. 



Just a breath of perfume in the air 

As if some prayerful elf a censor swung; 

Just a sigh of music faintly sung, 
As if the ghost of Echo lingered there; 
Just a whispering breeze to lisp a prayer 

Too pure to find a voice in mortal tongue ; 

Just a joy in life when life is young, 
And hope and happiness are everywhere. 

And then to trace a golden stream of thought 
Through all the tortuous sweetness of its way; 

To dream of joys too pure to ever be; 

To picture fancy courts so dainty wrought, 
Titania there could well hold queenly sway; 

The joy of doing naught lies here for me. 



51 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

HUNTING SONa. 

Death of the waning year; 

Fall of the year to rest; 
The hound's voice rises clear 

From the woods on the mountain's crest 
Quaff of the Autumn's wine 

Divine, 
Quaff of the hunter's drink; 
Fruit of no vine is this mystic wine 

Quaffed from the winter's brink. 

Flavor of untold heights; 

Boquet of the pungent air; 
Color the wavering lights 

That halo the mountains there; 
This is the wine of the fall 
And all 
Of the line of life is this. 
To sup from its cup and then fill it up 
And tipple the autumn's bliss. 

52 



LYBIGS OF THE HILLS. 

Oh who would dalliant be 

Where the cry of the hounds is clear? 
Dead in is heart is he 

Who finds not hunting dear. 

When the whirr of the rising bird 

Is heard 
And the roar of the answering gun. 
My heart is glad, delirious, mad, 
For the feast of the fall has begun. 
Life of the mellow year, 

Joy of the hunter's quest; 
The death of the day is here; 
Sit by the fire and rest; 
Rest and talk of the day, 

And say: 
When the hunt of the day is done, 
That man ne'er had a dog less bad 
Nor ever a better gun. 



53 



LYEICS OF THE HILLS. 

Joy of health is yours, 

And health and heart are dear; 
From the flask of the fall outpours 
The tipple to soothe and cheer. 
Quaff of the Autumn's wine 

Divine, 
Quaff of the hunter's drink; 
Fruit of no vine is this mystic wine 
Quaffed from the winter's brink. 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 



TWO SONGS. 



The bow sweeps slow o'er the vibrant string, 

And the magic of mystic art 
Lures from the wood the strains that ring 

Unsung in the master's heart, 
And, wild as the song the sweet spheres know. 
From the viol's heart comes the master's woe. 

Sweetheart, thy love o'er my tense heart's strings 

Swept with caressing art. 
And a God-sent melody lived, that sings 

Through the depths of my longing heart — 
A song that shall live till life is done, 
Till eternity, time, and we are one. 



55 



LYEIG8 OF THE HILLS. 

LULLABY. 

Sleep, little one, on your mama's breast, 

Safe as a dove in its downy nest. 

While the frost king knocks at the window-sill, 

And the storm king romps o'er vale and hill. 

The fire burns low in the hearthplace there, 

But safe and snug in our easy chair 

We'll sail over billows of misty light 

To the land of Nod and Dreams to-night. 

Sleep, my baby — sleep, my own! 

Rest, little head, on your mama's breast, 
For that is the dearest haven of rest; 
And the time will come, and that too soon, 
Whe you'll long in vain for mother's croon. 
For babyland days are quickly past, 
And sorrow will come to you, dear, at last. 
Then sleep, will be your only rest; 
So sleep, little one, on your mama's breast. 
Sleep, my baby — sleep, my own! 



56 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS: 



THE JUDGMENT, 



Opon a lonely mountain in the land of Seekto- 

know, 
Four sages sat in conference, a long-sought truth 

to show; 
They sought by wise conclusions all the universe 

to bless — 
They sought to solve the problem of just what's 
happiness. 

They summoned natives from all lands of all 
the wide-spread earth, 

And every island in the sea on which a man 
found birth; 

They summoned men of every class, from great- 
est to the least — 

From every rank of life they chose, from mur- 
derer to priest. 

They listened to the theory of every single 

man, 

17 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

And begged each hopeful schemer to elaborate 

his plan; 
They heard the plan of every man with calm, 

impartial mien, 
But when the last had said his say no settlement 

was seen. 

For one said drink was joy to him; sobriety the 
next; 

One claimed the Bible for his all, and one ab- 
horred the text; 

One said that marriage was his bliss ; the next 
said single life; — 

One spoke for peace and rest and love, the next 
one plead for strife. . 

They disagreed in myriad ways the sages had 

not thought ; 
And every witness seemed to hide the very 

truth they sought. 

58 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

The sages called a halt, for fear they soon would 

know much less 
Of that profound, and long-sought truth, just 

what is happiness. 

But when the crowd of men had gone and left 

the sages there, 
These pundits sat in silent thought— they never 

w^ould despair; 
They sat and sat, and thought and thought, till 

one the silence broke, — 
And after sighing thoughtfully, he cleared his 

throat and spoke: 

"It seems to me that every man has ideas of his 

own; 
How different these ideas are has just been 

clearly shown. 
But earthly bliss is relative, and howsoe'er they 

take it, 
True happiness to all mankind is only what they 

make it." 

59 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 
THE AMABAMA CHOON, 

You may talk about the Dickey bird, 

From far across the sea, 
Or the Phililooloo bird upon 

The amfalulu tree; 
But the music of these singing birds, 

Or any bird-sung tune, 
Isn't in it with our Eustace 

And the Amabama Choon ! 

Some children sing of fairyland, 
Where lived Hop-o'-my-thumb, 

With every tree a candy store. 
Each leaf a sugar plum; 

But Eustace sings of higher things — 
* 'The silvery southern moon" 

And the mammy-ginny-mammy of 

That Amabama Choon! 

His eyes grow wide with wonderment 

60 



LI BIOS OF THE HILLS. 

When once he starts to sing, 
He seems to see all fairyland 

And every mystic thing. 
He sings that nigger lullaby, 

Sips a potent magic croon, 
And all the force of all his thought 

Is centered in that ' 'choon. " 

It may be that this earnestness 

Does not prognosticate 
A happy time in future years 

When Eustace will be great; 
But still it seems to me to tell 

That some day ('twill be soon) 
The boy will show in graver things 

The power of that "choon." 



61 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 



LONGING. 



I am weary, weary, weary of the hurry and the strife, 
Fm longing for the country air, a taste of country life, 
Where all the air is laden with the breath of locust 

blooms, 
Where the worth of life is evidenced by songs and 

sweet perfume. 

I long to find a quiet spot within a leafy glen 

Away from all the ceaseless rush, the sickening crush, 

of men. 
And with thoughts a-wandering cloudwards and head 

upon the sod, 
To laze a lonely morning through with dreaming and 

with God. 

To laze a lonely morning through with dreaming and 
with God, 

To stray through many fields of thought where oft- 
times men have trod, 
6t 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

To dream of happy future days, when skies are 

always blue, 
And hearts are ever happy, and I, sweetheart, with 

you. 

Fm weary of the musty smell, the eye-bane type of 

books, 
My heart is fain of spring-time rain and gurgling, 

chuckling brooks; 
My heart is fain of cloudy skies, or skies of azure hue, 
But more than all my heart is fain of you, dear heart, 

of you. 

I long to find a quiet spot within a leafy glen. 
Away from all the ceaseless rush, the sickening crush 

of men. 
And with thoughts awandering cloudwards, and head 

upon the sod, 
To laze a lonely morning through with dreaming and 

with God. 



63 



LYBIGS OF THE HILLS. 
THE SESTINA OF THOUGHTFUL BILL. 

It may be that this world is full o' joy, 
And that the poor ain't got a cinch on pain ; 
It may be that the rich is kind o' heart, 
An' that the hungry poor knows brother love ; 
It may be that these things kas all been true, 
But if they is. I swear that I don't know. 

This don't seem like the world I useter know. 
When in the clover fields I walked in joy. 
An' I felt that love an' life was good an' true, 
With nary single thought o' woe or pain ; 
When all the world was one great blaze o' love. 
With not a shadder in its sunny heart. 

I thought I felt the throb o' nature's heart. 
An' catched the secret that the seasons know ; 
I thought the countersign of all was "Love," 
An' hoped by it to pass the lines o' jo}^ 
An' dodge the spryin' picket line o' pain, 
An' live where men was to themselves half true. 

64 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

I never see a man yet who was true, 
An' didn't fool his own onknown' heart, 
A thinkin* he would lose his share o' pain, 
By blindin' at the plainest things men know, 
Thinkin' to find a tinge o' perfect joy, 
By to his onery self a makin' love. 

Most o' the men of earth has got a love, 
For that that all men call the good an' true ; 
The}^ love it, ef they think it brings 'em joy, 
An' not because it's dear to God's own heart ; 
Oh, Lord, the most o' men I ever know 
Has brought the world a mighty heap o' pain. 

Some men may haste to bring a thought o' pain 
Into their brother's heart, just for the love 
They bear their fellow men, but this I know — 
Men to their passions is a heap more true 
Than to their God. The most o' men at heart 
Cares mightly little for their brother's joy. 

65 



LYBIGS OF THE HILLS. 



This world with all its pain (an' this is true) 
Has mother's love, my sweetheart's purest heart 
An' these, I know, bring me the best o' joy. 



66 



LYBICS OF TBE HILLS. 
EGO TE AMO. 

*'yb te amo' is, in Spain, 
The wooing lover's sweet refrain, 
When 'tis whispered soft and low 
In the accents lovers know, 
''Yo te amo* brings a flush 
To the Spanish maiden fair, 
As she hears with fiery blush 

The Don his love declare. 
**Vo te amd' is, in Spain, 
The wooing lover's sweet refrain. 

' ' Je vous aime, " in sunny France, 
Spoken with a tender glance, 
Is the secret lovers tell 
To the chic and gay Mamselle. 
' 'Je votis aime' is sweet to her, 
And the love he whispers low 
In her bosom sets astir 

Joys that none but lovers know. 

67 



LYBICS OF THE BILLS. 

''/e voue aime,'* in sunny France, 
Sets a maiden's heart adance. 

''I love you," we Yankees say, 
In an honest, manly way; 
And the tale these words impart 
Sets athrill the maiden's heart, 
''I love you" nor France nor Spain 
Knows a lover half so true. 
So, maiden, treat not with disdain 
The honest English, ''I love you" 
In an honest manly wa}^ 
''I love you" we Yankees say. 



68 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 
ASSOCIATION. 

A strident, cawing crow 
Sings melody to me, 
Because, long years ago 
A strident, cawing crow 
Flew over, while below 

I told my love to thee. 
A strident, cawing crow 
Sings melody to me. 

A nightingale in woe 
A threne pours out to me, 
Because, long years ago 
A nightingale in woe 
Heard thee whisper low 
Thy last sweet words to me. 
A nightingale in woe 

A threne pours out to me. 

In every bird-sung strain 
I hear a song of thee, 

69 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

The joy I feel, or pain, 
In every bird-sung strain, 
Is but the past again — 

My love comes back to me, 
In every bird-sung strain 
I hear a song of thee. 



70 



LYIUCS OF THE HILLS. 



JOSH OPINES. 



It's kinder nice, on a rainy day, 
When a feller ain't got nuthin' to say. 
To sit an' watch the rain' drops play 

In the puddles. 
There ain't much doin' out o' doors. 
But the fire in the old grate cracks and roars, 
And there's nothin'for meto do but the chores 
This evenin'. 
I tell you what, it's lots of fun 
To think, when the work is almost done, 
You're the very laziest son-of-a-gun 
In creation. 
To think of a cheerful rainy day. 
When the blues has gone and run away; 
When the apples is roastin' by the fire, 
And the smell of the turkey's mountin' higher ; 
When the sound of the walnut shells a-crackin 
Is sure to set your lips a-smackin'; 
To think of a eatin', lazy time 

71 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

Like Riley sings in his good old rhyme, 
Is lots more fun to a feller like me, 
Who ain't too peart' than for to be 
Alluz workin. 



Tfl 



LYRICS OF THE RILLS. 
A MEMOEY. 

It seems to me so long ago — 

And yet 'twas not so long — 
Since we sat in the dusk of a shadowy vale 

And heard the thrush's song: 
A simple song of an humble bird, 

In a coat of mottled brown, 
But it comes to me now through the rattle and roar 

Of the rushing, busy town. 
I live when I hear the thrush's song — 

Forgot is the lonely Now; 
I hear the sough of a whispering breeze 

And the lisp of a leafy bough; 
I feel the thrill of a God-sent joy — 

The touch of your lips on my brow. 

That kiss was pure as the purest love 

The very angels know; 
As pure as the white of untrod peaks 

Where lies the virgin snow. 
That kiss was like the quickening touch 

73 



LI BIGS OF THE HILLS. 

Of Sparkling spring-time rain, 
That calls to life the buried flowers 

That winter's cold has slain. 
It made me know that love is long, 

That life is not in vain, 
When love in life is sweet enough 

To sweeten all the pain. 
I live, when I hear a thrush's song, 

And, here in the lonely Now, 
I hear the sough of a whispering breeze 

And the lisp of a leafy bough; 
I feel the thrill of a God-sent joy — 

The touch of your lips on my brow. 



74 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 



A MOTHER'S KISS. 

The kisses that her lips impress 
Are sacred things, and bring to me 

A sweetness that is holiness — 
That lives for all eternity; 

For mother's love is like a ring, 

A precious, perfect, endless thing. 



75 



LYEICS OF THE HILLS. 



THE STREAM. 



I know a limpid, wondrous stream, 
As pure as the joy of a baby's dream; 
That mellowly murmurs in mystic tone, 
A lilting music all its own. 
In the heart of the hills of love it lies, 
And mirrors the beauty of earth and skies 
That is caught in the heart of it, golden deep, 
Where mystic, inviolate melodies sleep. 

Magical music with never a tone. 

That sing to each heart of its own, of its own; 

For my stream is the love of womankind. 

That murmurs a music intertwined 

With the secret longing of every heart, 

That feels a single love-throb start; 

I sing of a pure, unselfish love — 

The God-sent blessing — mother's love. 



76 



LYEICS OF THE HILLS. 

J 

THE THRUSH'S SONG. « 

Soft through the forest when twihght is falling, 
Clear as the sound of a fairy-swung bell, 

Plaintive and low as Eurydice's calling, 
Sweet as the breath of the fay Asphodel, 

Ringing and singing, caressing and swinging, 
The dim-lighted aisles of the forest along. 

Lilts through the forest the wood-thrush's song. 

Breath of the wildwood and perfume of flowers, 
Murmur and whisper of low lisping streams, 

Love that the nymphs knew in violet bowers, 

When life was all loving and troubles were dreams; 

Love's life in the strain of it, hope in the pain of it 
Down through my soul drifts the song from above, 

Falling and falling, and evermore calling, 

'^Sweetheart, I love you! Love you, my love?" 



77 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 



A SONG. 



Thou hast not loved, young heart; 

So naught of pain 
Hast known, nor felt the dart, 

That ruthless, vain, 
Thy fondest dreams of happiness hath slain. 

» 
Thou hast not loved? I envy thee 
The perfect sway 
Thou hast o'er joy; for thou art free 

To have thy way 
And laugh at love and lovers all the day. 

Thou hast not loved? I pity thee 

For all of this; 
The pain of love is joy to me. 

I know the bliss. 
The warm ecstatic sweetness of her kiss. 



78 



LYBIGS OF THE HILLS. 
NIGHT. 

She comes, a queen, all sable dressed; 

An august beauty, calmly fair. 

The Pleiades upon her breast, 

A jewelled brooch, and in her hair — 

Soft hair by balmy breeze caressed, 

Breathing sweet perfumes on the air — 

Nestles the milky way, a crown 

Of fairy roses. All adown 

The arching skies her silent car 

Rolls on, while every gleaming star 

Bends low in reverence at sight 

Of her, the heaven-born empress, Night. 



7» 



LYBICS OF THJE HILLS. 



WANDERERS. 

I saw a sea gull drift awa}^ 
Over the sea at the close of the day 
Till the bird was lost in the clouds of ink 
That lay in the dark horizon's brink. 

But wild and free 

O'er the surging sea 
The cry of that sea bird came to me 
Like the sob of a soul in agony. 

I saw a killdee flit away 

Over the lea at the close of the day, 

Till the bird was lost in the rosy mist 

That the sun's last lingering rays had kissed. 

But sweet and free 

O'er the grassy lea 
The cry of that killdee came to me 
Alilt with love's low melody. 



80 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS, 

And thus my thoughts drift far away 
In dreams at the close of a weary day. 
And some, like the gull, cry out in pain, 
And some sing sweet like the killdee's strain; 

But all are free 

And bring to me 
A sweet love song or a threnody 
That rings in my soul eternally. 



81 



LYRICS OF THE BILLS. 
A WINTER SONG. 

Sing a song of winter for the joys it has in store, 

Of the blissful yuletide pleasures of the golden days 

of yore. 
I hear the ring of melodies of ages long since flown, 
That sing to me of happy times the misty past has 

known. 
But present joys are sweet to me; I would not trade 

them now 
For all the past or future joys that time can know, I 

trow. 
Sing a song of winter, sing it with a will, 
Till the merry, fairy music sets the very wood athrill — 
Till the rhyming, chiming echo comes aclimbing o'er 

the hill. 
Sing a song of winter, when the ground is white be- 
low. 
When the redbird gleams among the pines and flames 

across the snow, ♦ 

When the woods are pure as samite with their drift- 
ing coat of white, 

82 



LYBIGS OF THE MILLS. 

When the air is full of music in the moonlit, starry 

night, 
When the ringing bells are singing as the cutter flies 

along, 
Till the silent woods stand listening to the music of 

their song. 
Sing a song of winter, sing it with a will, 
Till the merry, fairy music sets the very woods 

athrill— 
Till the rhyming, chiming echo comes aclimbing o'er 

the hill. 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS, 



THE FLIGHT. 



I lay on the hills the other night, 

The moon shone gold with its mellow light ; 

The night wind sang a glad refrain 

That the streamlet echoed back again — 

A song of the night, a serenade, 

To lull the pain the day had made. 

A song of peace, and rest, and love, 

A song of the stars that gleamed above — 

That twinkled and beamed like tender eyes 

That lighten and glow when the love lights rise. 

Then, sweet as the melodies angels hear, 
The sound of music, pulsing and clear 
As the timbrels of Judah, came to my ear. 
The sound of a waltz, a rhythmic strain. 
That spoke of love, nor spoke in vain; 
For ske came to me, and heard with me, 
The throb of that soulful melody. 

A passionate viol soared aloft 
With the theme, and then as soft 

84 



LYBICS OF IBE BILLS. 

As a baby's breath it sang to me 

Of death and God's eternit}^ 

And then the boom of a kettledrum, 

Like a palpitant heart throb, seemed to come 

Fraught with the life of music. Gleamed 

The stars in the vault above. I dreamed 

I flew with the spirit of song 

Beyond the stars, and all along 

The mystic chaos of awful space. 

So high and far, I saw the face 

Of earth, a fiery pebble burn 

Beneath a sea of space, and turn 

And twirl to the lilt of that air; so far 

I passed beyond the farthest star. 

Beyond the farthest lights that are. 

And still, re-echoed in my brain, 

I heard the sound of that waltz's strain 

And listened, enthralled, by the sweet refrain. 



85 



LTBICS OF THE HILLS. 
A YILLANELLE OF JOY. 

Down the dancing, dimpling rills 

Where the netting wave-shades play 
Comes the message from the hills. 

Love-charms that the dew distils 

Gleam in ripples all the way 
Down the dancing, dimpling rills. 

In lilting song that throbs and thrills 
Where the pearl-cupped lilies sway 
Comes the message from the hills. 

* 'Hearken to the song that stills 

All the sorrows of the day^ 
Down the dancing, dimpling rills, 

* * With the strain the song-bird trills 

Through the love-fraught hours of May, 
Comes the message from the hills, 

86 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 



^^Love 'tis love alone, that fills 
Life with joys for which we pray T 

Down the dancing, dimpling rills 
Comeslthe message from the hills. 



8t 



LYEIGS OF THE HILLS. 
WHEN DE FISH AM BITIN' FREE. 

Dey aint no fun agoin' 

Dat jes gets nex' to me, 
Like a fishin' in de shadder 

Of a hangin' over tree. 
Wiv nuthin but de sun heat, 

And de san' gnats bothern' me. 
When de river's sort o' clear like 

An de fish am bitin' free. 

I aint so dern particular 

Bout de kind ov fish dat bites 
If deys little uns, or big uns. 

Be dey catfish, eels or whites, 
But I jes wants to be afishin, 

An a loafin lazily, 
When de river's sort o' clear like 

An de fish am bitin' free. 

I haint no fancy fishin' rod, 

I catch 'em wiv Sipole, 
is 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

A paw-paw pole I cut myself 
Up by de swimmin' hole. 

But dey aint no fancy fisherman 
Has near's much fun as me 

When the river's sorto' clear like 
An de fish am bitin' free. 

For dey aint no fun agoin' 

Dat jes gets nex' to me, 
Like a fishin' in de shadder, 

Of a hangin' over tree. 
Wiv nuthin' but the sun heat, 

An de san' gnats botherin' me. 
When de river's sort o' clear like 

An de fish am bitin' free. 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 
SUMMER SONG. 

Oh summer in Kanawha, you have this heart of mine 
When purple grapes are bursting into ripeness on 
the vine ; 
When sweet peas light the trellis like a rainbow 

gone to boom 
And flooding the dozing garden with their subtle 
sweet perfume ; 
When bees are softh^ humming round the apples on 

the trees 
And purple morning glories nod a greefing to the 
breeze ; 
When far across the meadows the rippling waters 

gleam 
Like the laz3^ mazy, haz}^ recollection of a dream; 
Oh summer in Kanawha, when skies are azure 
hue 
M}^ heart is burning, yearning, ever turning home 
to vou 



90 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

Oh summer in Kanawha, when standing at the gate 
And hearing, far across the fields, the partridge call 
his mate ; 
Tis sweet to think the world all love, with not a 

thought of hate, 
To dream the dear old dreams again, before it is 
too late. 
Ah, life is worth the living in the golden,- dewy morn 
When field larks pipe their silver notes across the 
tasseled corn; 
And life is worth the living in the drowsy summer 

noon ; 
And dreaming, more than dreaming neath the 
gleaming summer moon ; 
Oh summer in Kanawha, whenever skies are blue. 
My heart is burning, yearning, ever turning home 
to you. 

Oh summer in Kanawha, when twilight shadows fall, 
And floating from the mountains comes the night 
birds' triple call, 

91 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

Tis then the dreams come thronging like the 

ghosts of happiness, 
And evening breezes thrill me like a mother's dear 
caress. 
And I see you, sweetheart, waiting at the old familiar 

place 
And I catch the graceful glimmer of the moonlight 
on your face; 
Oh my thoughts go winging swiftly through the 

slowly lapsing years 
Till my eyes are brimming, swimming, dimming 
fast with misty tears. 
Oh summer in Kanawha, whenever hearts are 
true 
My heart is burning, 3rearning, ever turning home 
to you. 



92 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 
ARCADY. 

'Tis a dreamy, easeful land, 
Where lotus blossoms stand 

In the streams; 
And the water lilies lie 
Where clear streamlets ripple by 

As in dreams. 
Here the heavy orchid blooms 
Flood the air with rich perfumes 

All the day. 
O'er the stream and o'er the wheat, 
Where the woods and meadows meet, 

Swallows play. 
Here the silent, gorgeous morn, 
Sounds her panic barken horn 

Through the air. 
Till each faun and satyr flies 
With fearful, startled e3^es. 

To his lair. 



LYBICH OF THE HILLS. 

CHRISTMAS SONGS. 
Apologies To Eugene Field. 

Kneel, little baby, and lisp your prayers, 
Innocent baby with wondering eyes, 
Pray to the rhyming 
Of Christmas bells chiming, 
Climbing to heaven where Jesus lies. 

There in the heavens there gleams a light, 
A golden light that shines afar; 

On the storm-clould's tresses 
It lays its caresses — 
Caresses of love: 'tis the Christ-child's star. 

In by the bedside the starlight steals 
As soft as the rustle of angel wings; 
See, it is glistening 
Brightly, and listening, 
Listening to music that mother sings. 

94 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

Up from the city there comes the sound 
Of curses and blasphemies awful to hear; 
Mankind is stoning 
Our Lord. He is groaning, 
Moaning and weeping in agony, dear. 

So kneel little baby and lisp your prayers, 
Innocent baby with wondering eyes; 
Pray to the rhyming 
Of Christmas bells chiming, 
Climbing to heaven where Jesus lies. 



95 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 
TO THE SOUTH WIND. 

Hail wind of the grand 

Old southern land, 
The land of beauty and love. 

Your murmur aloft 

Is as sweetly soft 
As the coo of a wooing dove. 

Your murmur, oh, wind. 

Is to my mind 
The sweetest of lullabies. 

It must be the croon 

That your mother, the moon. 
Sang to you, child of the skies. 

She lulled 3'ou to rest 
On the balmy breast 
Of azure southern seas, 

Till the stars looked down 

96 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

With a jealous frown, 
Envious of your ease. 

You have rocked to sleep 

Young thrushes deep 
In forests of fragrant pine. 

You have deflowered 

Wild roses, embowered 
In cradles of eglantine. 

In the land of the palm. 

That far land calm, 
Where the tropic waters flow, 

You romped through the trees 

With the wanton breeze 
From the gloomy land of snow. 

You whisper of flowers 
That sparkling showers 
Ever keep fragrant and cool; 

97 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

You sigh of sweet streams 
Like those of my dreams, 
As calm as a lily-decked pool. 

Whenever you breathe 

On a flower, you bequeath 
A dower of perfume rare, 

As subtle almiost 

As the fragrant ghost 
Of flowers that bloom in air, 

But, wind, do not furl 

Your white sails of pearl, 
Nor anchor your cloud craft here. 

Oh, sail on above 

And bear to my love 
The message she longs to hear. 

And then sail back. 
O'er the same sky track, 
And bring me the sound of her voice, 

98 



LYRICS OF THE ttlLLS. 

And sing of her eyes 
Where the lovehghts rise, 
Then, wind, in your heart rejoice. 

Oh, wind, you are old, 

A free lance bold, 
Have kissed and been kissed by turns, 
But the sweets 3^ou have missed 
Are the lips I have kissed 
Andjthe love that my heart inurns. 



LofC. 



Lymes OF THE HILLS. 
A SONG OF PROTEST. 

Songs of joy and songs of love 
Sing I till the clouds above 
Gleam and glisten in the bright 
Glory of my true delight. 
Sing I not one note of pain: — 
Rainbows glisten through the rain. — 
Tho my eyes with tears be wet, 
Tho my soul with pain be fret, 
Tho my heart cannot forget 
Sorrows that have come to me, 
Sing I not a threnody; — 
Starlight glimmers through the dark, 
Mocks-birds sing when still the lark. 

"But," they tell me," love is dead, 
All you say has oft been said. 
Songs have praised each flower's hue. 
Eyes of brown or eyes of blue 
Have been praised by poet, who 
Knew and felt far more than you. 

100 



LYBIGS OF THE MILLS. 

"These things all were true one while, — 
If you sing the world will smile. 
No real men can 3^ou beguile 
Singing songs of love, the thing 
Older than the rhymes you sing. 

''Men care naught if love be true, 
What men want is something new. 

Sing great songs of vice and blood, 
If you would be understood. 
Let the martial trumpet ring 
In the soldier songs you sing. 
Make your muse a barbed dart, 
To pierce and bleed the human heart. 
Sing of woes that freeze the blood, 
If you would be understood. 

"Men have time for songs if you 

Search their passions through and through, 

But sentiment you must taboo. 

101 « 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

'God made man in such a wise;' 
The}^ say, 'that all the vaulted skies 
Are to him a domed tomb 
Holding men in charnel gloom; 
Sodden captives held for life 
In a loathsome vale of strife.' 

' 'Sing such songs as men like these 

Understand, and that will please; 

All your work will lauded be 

As the best of poetry. 

Men will say your clanging rhyme 

Shall be chanted in all time. 

' 'Sing you vice and blood and woe, 
If you human fame would know. 
Sing of bawds of stark ill-fame, 
Beautify their vice, and blame 
None so much as those who be 
Pure in their own purity. 
Sing of beasts who, swinelike, swill 

102 



LYRICS OFTRE HILLS. 

Dregs of fetid filth; who kill . 
All their likeness unto God; 
Treading paths dead kings have trod, 
Who are foul as filth, and then 
Wear the visages of men. 

''Sing of men such as they are — 
You can find and not search far. 
Poetry is truth, and art 
Is but telling, (do not start 
I am not the first who saw 
That beef is best when eaten raw. 
Condiments and fire are what 
Meat of beef possesseth not.) 
Fact for fact, and crime for crime, 
They will all be known in time. 
Hide not filth — be not afraid — 
Always call a spade a spade. 
Tell of things of filthy kind 
If filth be of the things you find." 



LI BIOS OF THE HILLS. 

So I sing, and sing I will 

Till my singing voice is still: — 

Of things of earth or skies above 

Beautiful and good to love! 

Sing I songs to God's own plan — 

Songs to bring God's joy to man — 

Thoughts that sing themselves to me 

Full of subtle melody 

To drive my thoughts of gloom away 

And light the sunshine of a day. 

Sing I these in simple strain; — 

Shall I deem them sung in vain, 

If they still in some man's heart 

A single sting of sorrow's dart? 

The truth I see in skies above me 

In God's command, ''Know thou and love me. 

Every cloud upon the blue, 

Every blossom fair of hue 

Every beauty painters limn 

104 



LYRICS OF THUj HILLS, 

Is a mystic word of him. 
So I sing not songs of strife 
Sing I but the joys of life, 
Songs of joy and hope to man, 
Happiness to God's own plan. 



105 



LYRICS OF THE MILLS. 
A SONG OF YOU, 

Bereft of you, 

The world is dark. 
To heights of blue 

Up springs the lark. 
But there is sadness softly ringing 
In his sweet singing. 

The sunlit hours 

Deprived of you 
Are fragrant flowers 

Bereft of dev/, 
That droop and wither, broken hearted, 
Their joy departed. 

You are the sun 

To light the rain 
Agleam upon 

A flowery plain, 
For thoughts are jewels all about you. 
But dead without you. 

106 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

Among earth's host 

Of wonders fair 
Not one can boast 
Your sweetness rare. 
When alien breezes fan and kiss you, 
Sweetheart, I miss you! 



My heart, oh God, 

From withered gloom 
Like Aaron s rod 
Would btirst abloom 
If I could see her eyes above me 
And she should love me. 



107 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 
HOW CAN I, LORD? 

How can I, Lord, forget your love 
When every breeze that sighs above 
Is fraught with perfume sweet and rare 
To breath to you an endless prayer ? 
How can I, Lord, forget your wrath 
When written on the planet's path 
Through endless space with pen of light 
I read your name upon the night ? 
How can I, Lord? But yet I do 
Despite the breeze's prayer to you, 
Despite the word athwart the blue, 
Forget, O God, I do, I do. 

How can I, Lord, forget your power, 
When in the heart of every flower 
So dainty sweet and fair of hue, 
I read a mystic word of you ? 
How can I, Lord, for mercy hope, 
When in these darkened ways I grope, 

108 



LYRICS OF THE BILLS. 

How can I hope your love to win 
Deep groveling in the filth of sin ? 
How can I, Lord ? But yet I do. 
A worthless word, a heart untrue, 
Are all, O God, I bring to you, 
But hope for mercy. Lord, I do ! 



109 



1jYBI€6 of the hills. 
A TWILIGHT SOifG. 

Far in the heart of the golden west 
Over the dozing mountain's crest 

Hideth the sun. 
Softly with lingering step and slow, 
Over the twilight fields we go, 
Hearing the night wind whispering low, 

And day is done. 

The night wind sings to the slumbrous hills 
A song of perfect love that thrills 

This heart of mine. 
Slowly the twilight shadows fall 
Over the meadows the killdees call, 
And fame is nothing, but love is all, 

Oh sweetheart mine. 

Love for love is the all of life, 
The rest from sorrow the calm of strife. 
Oh heart of mine. 
. 110 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

Silver clouds in the golden west, 
Whispering winds that tell of rest, 
Love for love of all is best, 

Oh sweetheart mine. 



Ill 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 



NEVA. 



Oh Neva, can you not remember 

A time, though aeons away. 

When you and I were together, 

In the love of a better day ? 

It seems to me, here in the gloaming, 

When the day is nearly done, 

That, ages ago, in the twilight, 

We watched the slow setting sun, 

And then, in the moontide's splendor. 

We saw the great sea's wave 

Burn with a golden glory 

The magic moonlight gave. 

We saw great crimson. flowers 

Bud and blossom and die, 

We saw soft silver cloudlets 

Drift over the azure sky. 

We felt the passionate breezes. 

Laden with perfume rare. 

Blow on our brows the sweetest 

112 



LYEIGS OF TBE EJLLS. 

Breath of the orchids there. 

We loved in those days, my Neva, 

For our blood was red warm then, 

We felt not the puny passions 

That now are felt by men, 

We loved with the fire of the tiger 

In the jungle of his birth. 

We loved with the fiercest of passions 

That come to children of earth. 

Our love was the love of a storm wind 

With the beauty of a flower; 

It conquered our hearts by its beauty, 

And held them by its power. 

We wandered all day in the meadows 

In the molten glory of noon. 

At night we slept in the forest 

Sentineled by the moon. 

The clouds and the sky were o'er us, 

And, guarding us from above. 

Ablaze in his glittering raiment, 

113 



LYBICS OF THE HILLIS. 

Hovered the Angel of Love. 

Oh Neva, I dream in the gloaming 

Of the fragrance of our bed ! 

With coverlid woven of petals 

The redolent violets shed, 

And pillows as soft as the thistle 

The night breezes v/aft overhead. 

The nightingale sang to us, Neva, 

A song that the cherubim sang 

When, afire with the passion of music, 

Their voices in chorus rang. 

And the brook's low lullaby soothed us 

With the lapse of each whispering wave 

That sang to the slumbering lily 

Of the joys that true love gave. 

Oh love, I feel your breathing 

And the touch of 3^our hair on my brow, 

I see your luscious lips parted. 

To kiss me even now 

With the ardor and earnestness, Neva, 

The humming bird shows when he sips 

114 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

Of the honey of roses, but sweetheart, 

Far sweeter than roses your lips, 

And the bkd is a niggardly lover 

And no hint of sweetness returns. 

But you give to me all the sweetness 

Your passionate kiss inurns. 

I feel the force of the passion 

That warmed your spotless breast 

All palpitant with sweet longings 

All eager to be caressed 

And I hold you close, my Neva, 

And kiss you, and kiss, and kiss 

Till the earth and the clouds and the heavens. 

Are fading away into bliss, 

Till your lips and my lips and our loving 

Are all in the world to me, 

Till the very breath of the flowers 

Comes panting and ardently 

Aflame with the fire of the passion 

That came to you and me 

Afire with the flame of a passion 

Limitless boundless free. 

116 



LIBICS OF THE HILLS. 

Oh for those days in the twihght 
When a love was the leader of all 
Beside which the loves of the present 
Grow tastless insipid and pall 
On the love laden senses of lovers 
Who loved with us of old, 
When love was all of our being 
Passionate fiery and bold! 



116 



LYBICS OF THE MILLS. 
THE SONG OF THE CALLING HEAJRT. 

Heard you not a song last night 
When the sounds of day were still, 

And the pale moon's dreaming light, 
Silvered meadow, vale and hill 

And the brooding stars were bright ? 

Heard you not a song, faint sung, 

As if the eerie notes were sped 
From the hours when time was young 

And love's fair dreams were hallowed, 
And everywhere the joy bells swung ? 

Heard you not, when silent lay 

The drowsy hum of summer's noon, 

When stilled the ghost-like mists of gray, 
The cricket's chirp, the night wind's croon, 

A passing song that sped away ? 

A silent song of mystic tone 

That sang of thoughts ineffable, 

117 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS, 

A song of times long aeons flown, 

A song of now, a song to tell 
The thoughts that all the ages own. 

One heart the choir of hearts shall be, 
To hymn the love of every heart. 

For heart is heart — to you, to me, 
And art of heart, or heart of art, 

God's joy is love for love is he. 

From heart to heart, through space of space, 

The silent song shall ever sing; 
While lights of love two bright eyes grace, 

The calling song craves answering 
From distant bourn or face to face. 

When chill the cold of winter falls, 
When skies are leaden dull and gray. 

When ice has woven samite palls, 
To shroud the river on their way, 

Across the waste my soul still calls. 

118 



LI BICS OF THE HILLS. 

And calling ever calls on you 
To light the winter of my love, 

To smile, and, smiling, change the hue 
Of sullen skies that frown above 

From winter's gray to summer's blue. 

Heard you not this call last night 
When the gloom of dark was here ? 

Heard you not the song's far flight 
Over meadow, wood and mere 

Calling, calling in its might ? 

For my heart when day was done. 
And the time of darkness came, 

Sped the courses of the sun 
Like the leap of living flame, 

Sped — the wings of thought upon. 

It sang a song for your dear ear, 

Of hopes that will not blasted be; 
A song I pray you, dear, to hear, 

119 



LYRICS OF THE HILS. 

*Tis all the joy of life to me, 
Hear it, sweet, the voice is clear. 

Hear and give my loving hope, 

Let love shine out the darkness through. 
Let me not in darkness grope 

Feeling that apart from you 
I must tread the valley's slope. 

In my heart let blossoms bloom, 
Flowers of joy, to grace the way 

From this night of loveless gloom! 
To the light of love-lit day 

Where all is song and sweet perfume. 

Heard you not a song last night 
When the sounds of day w^ere still 

And the pale moon's dreaming light 
Silvered meadow, vale and hill. 

And the brooding stars were bright ? 

120 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

Heard you not this call last night 
When the gloom of dark was here ? 

Heard you not the song's far flight 
Over meadow, wood and mere, 

Calling, calling in its might ? , 

The sound you deemed the night winds sigh^ 

Whispering through the darkened tree, 
Was the anguished longing cry, 
A pleading for the joy to be! 
1 hope that I may love you — cvefi I! 



121 



LYBIGS OF THE HILLS. 



TO A BUTTERFLY. 

Whence comest thou ? Art thou born of earth 
So fragile, fair, and featly wrought ? 

Or hast thou in Love's brain found birth 
A child of beauty and of thought ? 

Or art thou, waft through summer skies, 

An earth blown bloom of paradise ? 



122 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 
THUS SAITH THE FOREST TO MAW. 

Within my grassy glades of grateful shade 

When thou hast strayed 
Afar from all the horror of thy kind, 

Sweet peace shalt find. 
A myriad waving welcomes shalt thou see 

My leaves waft thee. 
Low lisps of loving laughter shalt thou hear 

Afar and near. 
For wood nymphs wanton in each sylvan glen, 

Today, as when, 
In olden days, a dryad made each bole 

Instinct with soul. 
The work and worry that thy heart has known 

Till all have flown. 
The pride and passion of a peopled past 

Will fade at last, 
Come, oh, weary wand'rer, come, oh, soul distressed 

And take thy rest! 

123 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

My slumbrous aisles are poppy leaved with sleep, 

While shadows deep 
Bewitch with opiates sweet and mystic spell 

The darkling dell, 
Where couch of velvet moss and lulling streams 

Entice sweet dreams. 
While perfumed breezes whisper o'er and o'er 

The olden lore 
That tells of rest ! Oh wanderer, lest thou know 

Thy mead of woe 
And lest thine eyes with bitter tears be wet 

Thy world forget. 



124 



LYBIGS OF THE HILLS. 



COON SONG. 



Yaller dawg's a bayen at de shadder in de moon, 

Come on niggahs! Come along! 
Away up de holluh dar's a gre' big coon, 

Come on you niggah's all! 
Come on niggahs, blow dat hawn 
Dat coons a hankerin' fo' some cawn, 
We'll catch that critter befor' de mawn, 

Come on niggahs! Come along! 

'Possum up de simmon tree a hangin* by his tail, 

Come on, niggahs! Come along! 
Pine knots am a blazin' dis dawg doan nevah fail, 

Come on, you niggahs all ! 
Come on niggahs, possum meat am fine. 
De pickaninnies like um an' dat Dinah wife o' mine 
Can cook um wio potatahs dat am sweet as simmon 
wine, 

Come on, niggahs! Come along! 

125 



LYEICS OF THE HILLS. 

Come on niggahs, blow dat hawn, 

Come on, you niggahs all. 
Aldo the tree am mighty tall 
From out dat tree dey gwine ter fall, 
De coon for his fighten de possum for his fat, 
Dey bof am with a huntin', I'm atellin' you that. 

Come on, niggahs! Come along! 



126 



LVBIGS OF THE HILLS. 



A VALENTINE VERSE. 



God took a star from the vaulting skies, 

From out of the heavens blue, 
And from its light lit two deep eyes 

God gave these eyes to you. 
These eyes, as deep as the skies above, 
Have lit my heart with the flame of love. 

God, from that garden whence man has sped, 

Took a rose of wondrous hue 
And from it fashioned two lips of red, 

God gave these lips to you, 
And whoso knows these lips warm kiss 
Shall know the best of that garden's bliss. 

God made a heart to his own great plan 

Tender, loving and true. 
More perfect than heart he gives to man, 

God gave this love to you, 

127 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

And whoso wins this heart of yours 
For him a treasure of love outpours. 

Eyes and Hps and heart of love, 

I know and love them, too, 
With a love as true as the skies above, 

God gives this love to you. 
Will you give your heart for this heart of mine. 
This heart I send as your valentine ? 



128 



LYBIGS OF TRE MILL^. 



A MEMORY. 



Am I mad as I sit in the twilight now 
With the cold wind stinging my upturned brow? 
Has the moon that gleams in the western sky 
Affected my fevered brain that I 
Gazed at the stars and, sigh and sigh, 
For a night that is weary 3^ears gone by ? 
Am I mad that I long for joys I have known, 
Sweetheart my own ? 

Is it strange that this tinkling mandolin 
Should sing to me of a violin 
That sang a waltz so long ago, 
Where Marechal, Niel and Jacqueminot 
Perfumed the air where to and fro 
We glided on — ah me I know 
That your dear heart my pain has known, 
Sweetheart my own. 

129 



LYRICS OF THE BILLS. 

Is it strange that my wandering thoughts should roam 
Through devious way to that "Home Sweet Home," 
When the bliss of heaven was ours that night ? 
Is it strange that my heart should not be light, 
Or strange that mists should dim my sight ? 
When I long for that time when love made bright ? 
The happiest hours that I have known, 
Sweetheart my own? 

I hear the summer breezes croon, 
I see the light of the summer moon. 
Though the campus gleams with a garb of snow 
I hear your dear voice sweet and low 
As you spoke in the gloaming long ago. 
My heart is worn with a weight of woe 
As I long for the peace of the love I have known, 
Sweetheart my own. 



130 



LYRICS OF THE BILLS. 

THE REAL RAGGEDY MAN. 

(James Whitcomb Riley.) 

This raggedy man, he works for all 
Whom troubles and worries hold in thrall 
He sings sweet songs of sun and dew 
And lighten the world for me and you — 
He opens our hearts — and pain has fled 
And memories of childhood live instead. 
He soothes with the balm of love-bid tears 
The bitter pain of the waiting years. 
This mystical, musical raggedy man 
Raggedy, raggedy, raggedy man. 

The raggedy man, so much he knows 
He splits our troubles and chops our woes 
And digs deep down in our hearts to find 
Longings to which most men are blind. 
He climbs clear up to the heavens blue 
And flings back songs for me and you, 
Songs that are written to God's own plan 

131 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

By the wondrous art of the raggedy man. 
This loving and lovable raggedy man 
Raggedy, raggedy, raggedy man. 

This ragged}^ man he too knows rhymes 

That ring as true as blue bell chimes. 

He knows about babies and girls and boys 

And men and women, their woes and joys — 

The slumbrous murmur of zooning bees, 

The autumn song of the changing trees. 

And he sings these songs from his great warm heart 

Till tears of joy from our lashes start. 

And we love to the songs of the raggedy man, 

Raggedy, raggedy, raggedy man. 

Oh raggedy man, if you could know 

The wondrous ways your sweet songs go, 

If you could know the good they do, 

The wealth of the world would be naught to you. 

Oh raggedy man — our hearts are yours, 

132 



LYRICS OF TEE HILLS. 

For you a treasure of love outpours, 
Your heart was made to the Master's plan, 
And he blesses your work, oh raggedy man. 
Oh singer of childhood, raggedy man. 
Raggedy, raggedy, raggedy man. 



LI EICS OF THE EILLIS. 



AW AUTUMN SONG. 



Sing a song of Autumn, sing it soft and low, 
Sing it to the rustle of the breezes as they blow. 

Sing it, sweetheart, sing it, 

To the rustle of the leaves, 
When the morning sun like Midas turns to gold the 
standing sheaves. 

Sing a song of Autumn, of hunt and harvest time; 
Seek the woods and meadows for the subject of your 
rhyme. 

Sing it, sweetheart, sing it. 
As the reapers go, 
Joy is in your voice, dear, the jo}^ that lovers know. 

Tune it to the rhythm of the dead leaves as they fall, 
Set it to the music of the swallow's parting call. 

Sing it, sweetheart, sing. 

At the dying of the year, 

134 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

But let your voice in the joy ring forth, for love is 
ever here. 

Sing a song of resting, when the sun is done, 
And tune it to the glory of the setting of the sun. 

Sing it, sweetheart, sing it. 

While the shadows flicker low, 
And while I whisper you what no one else shall know. 

Mellow floods of star-light melt away the gloom, 
And symphonies of sympathy float out and fill the 
room, 

Sing it, sweetheart, sing it. 
Till a melody unfold 
As perfect as this love of mine that I so oft have told. 

Sing it, sweetheart, sing it, till the golden harvest 

moon. 
And the glistening stars seem listening to the music 

of your croon. 

135 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

Sing it, sweetheart, sing it, 
To the beating of our hearts. 
Sing the tale of harvest time their beating so imparts. 

Sing a song of happiness, bhssfulness and joy; 

Sing a song of golden love that never knows alloy. 
Sing it, sweetheart, sing it, 
While the night wind whispers low. 

There is a sweetness in your song, sweetheart, the 
world can never know% 



136 



LYRICS OF TEE HILLS, 



TO DAWDELION. 

Laden with a wreath of gold, 
Stolen from some gnome below, 

White, then bald thou growest old 
With a weary weight of woe; 

Thus illgotten wealth e'er gave 
A troubled pathway to the grave. 



137 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 



A JULY RAIN. 



The grass is wet and drippin' an' the puddles runnin' 

over, 
The July air is reekin' with the scent of hay an' clover, 
There's joy in every breathin' of the flower laden air 
And whisperin's of wildwood joys adriftin' every- 
where. 

An' the laughin' leaves are callin' 
To the rattlin' rain drops fallin' 
That the fairies are a dancin' beneath the holly tree; 
And the rain drops hark and hear them, 
And the fairies never fear them. 
For the raindrops love the good folk of forest, glen 
and lea. 

The mottled thrush is singing sweet a wildwood 

elfin choral, 
While silent dells and dingles offer fragrant incense 

floral 

138 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 

To the dancin' drops that dimple down each lazy 

lispin' stream 
Where lilies light the shallows and flashing minnows 
gleam, 

While the ferns, their fronds upturnin' 
Like suppliant hands, deep yearnin' 
For a life where dreams and dreamin' the purest 
pleasure be, 

Seem to tell these clouds above me 
That they know me, yes, and love me ! 
Ah the shower brings a thousand thoughts and purest 
joy to me ! 



139 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 



VIA CRUCIS. 

Along the dreary path of life 

By way of hearthid tears, 
Men wage the bitter cruel strife 

Of hopes and biting fears. 

The Golgotha of waiting years, 

Love's Calvary of woe, 
Hopes, and regrets, soul-pain and fears, 

The hearts of all men know. 

But far beyond the vale of strife 

The weary way above 
The true reward of faithful Jife 

Gleams fair the heaven of love. 



140 



JUYBICS OF THE HILLS. 



AWAKENED. 



A silent wind harp was my heart 
Before love came to me. 

Love came, and every vibrant part 
Awoke to melody. 



141 



LYRICS OF THE BILLS. 



A SONG OF THE OPEN AIR. 



Most poets sing of the sweets of love, 

The love-lit eyes of ladies fair, 
The perfect bliss of a clinging kiss, — 

I sing the joy of the open air. 
I sing the jo3^s of wood and field, 
And the heart's own pleasures the forests yield. 

The perfect joy of the open air, 
So it's hey for the forest, the stream and sea. 

The life of a rover's the life for me 
With rod and gun 'neath the autumn sun, 
Boys of the woodland, life is fun, 
To fellow with oak and birch and pine. 
To tent in the shade of a wild grapevine. 
To smell the breath of the damp brown earth. 

To hear the rustle of lisping leaves, 
Gives the hopes of a tired heart new birth, 

Is a balm to the pain of the one who grieves— 
So it's he}' for the noontide or sunsets fair, 
Bright starlit night, or the pale moon's glare. 

142 



LYBIC8 OF THE HILLS, 

Now or then wherever or where 
It's hey for the joy of the open air ! 
I sing not the song of the work of man, 
Be it music or poem or painting rare; 
My song's of the sod the work of God 
And the perfect joy of the open air. 
I sing the song of the beacon star 
That Hghts the mari ner o'er the bar 

When the wind is high and the sailor's dare, 
So it's hey for the primal joys of man, 
The joys that are to God's own plan — 
The woodland air is a perfumed prayer 
To Him who made the woodland fair. 
To Him who wills the breeze to blow, 
The birds to sing, the brooks to flow, 

Whose name is writ on the mountain's crest 
And lisped in the song of the running 
streams. 
Whose love is hid in the bluebell's breast 
And glints in the light of the bright sun's 
beams, 

143 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 



So it's hey for the noontide or sunset fair. 
The glory of God is written there, 
Now or then, wherever or where, 
It's hey for the joy of the open air. 



144 



^:r:^^- 



"^^^^..^^^ 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 



TO THE SOUTHLAND. 



i^ 



Oh southland far and fine, 
Where the air is tanged like wine, 
And the slumbrous days are lethed with a languor 
half divine ; 
Where the cypress rears its head 
O'er the swamp plant's oozy bed. 
And the water lily rustles to the musk-rat's stealth}^ 
tread. 

Where the warm night's misty gloom 
Is rare with rich perfume, 
That lures thy lazy longing where the lush magnolias 
bloom, 
While the night bird's eerie song 
Soothes thy sleep, the whole night long, 
With the subtle ghosts of melodies, where fairy fancies 
throng. 



145 



LYRICS OF THE HILLS. 

Oh' southland, thou art fair, 
/ And for all thy beauties rare 

Of mountain, vale or meadow, of river, sea or air 

I hold thee in my breast — / 

A flower that is pressed / 

In the golden book of memory and cherished theife 
as blessed. 



Oh south of olden day 

When the sky was blue alway, — 

But no truer to its color than the hearts that love the 
gray; 
Where blessed memory 
Decks graves where heroes lie, — 

Our southland's contribution to the hosts of chivalry. 

Where every southern heart 
Feels the present time depart, 
And memories of olden time, in glory's garb, upstart, 

146 



LYEICS OF THE HILLS. 

When to martial tumult from 
The heart-throb of the drum, 
While the band is playing "Dixie" the grayclad 
veterans come. 

Oh southland 'tis for this, 
The spirit others miss, 
We Southrons hold you dearest as the home of earthly 
bliss, 
For of memories half divine, 
No land has hosts like thine, 
That sweeten with their aging like the best of olding 
wine. 



147 



LYLICS OF THE BILLS, 



STAR DUST. 



Long aeons past pimordial dust was wrought, 
By God's design, slow changing to this earth. 

In minds of men from simple dust of thought 
Vast worlds of weighty wisdom take their birth, 



148 



LYBICS OF THE HILLS. 
MY ALL. 

Happiness, nor countless gold, 

Nor fame that gives the world to me, 

Can still my heart, so overbold. 
That longs for thee. 

The lilt of bird sung melodies, 

The amorous moonlight, wearies me, 

I see no beauty 'neath the skies 
But is of thee ! 

These four alone are in this world — 

The light devine 
That lit my heart and there unfurled 

My love, and thine — 
A hope that love then brought to me — 

My heart, afire 
With passionate longings, dear, for thee- 

And my desire! 

149 



LYBICS OF THE BILLS. 



SOUL UNION. 

Two shadows met and merged in one 

As single as the parent sun; 

And so two hearts did one day meet 

And form a union so complete 

That God decreed these hearts should be 

One heart for all eternity. 



150 



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